


Pancakes

by DevilMadeMeDoIt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (if you squint), Bunker Fic, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Nesting, Pouting, Sharing Clothes, dean is a good boyfriend, human!Cas, kitchen disaster, learning how to be human takes time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:44:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilMadeMeDoIt/pseuds/DevilMadeMeDoIt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean noticed three things when he woke up. One was the smell of....well, burnt. Burnt something. He panicked for a brief second before he realized it was more of a Kitchen Disaster burnt rather than  a Your Whole Life is Going Up In Flames, Again burnt. The second was that the bed was missing a certain fallen-now-human angel. Third, he was cold, because his human space heater of a boyfriend was not currently wrapped around him octo-style as usual, not to mention his thick, goose down comforter was also gone. </p><p>The last of the three let him know more than anything that something was amiss this morning. Blanket theivery only occurred around the bunker when Cas was upset about one thing or another and hauled off his stolen bits of creature comfort to the den to do what Dean could only describe as nesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jessi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessi/gifts).



> this is for Jessi...because around here we give fluffy fic drabbles instead of cards.
> 
> hope you're feeling better bb <3

 

Dean noticed three things when he woke up. One was the smell of....well, burnt. Burnt something. He panicked for a brief second before he realized it was more of a Kitchen Disaster burnt rather than Your Whole Life is Going Up In Flames, Again burnt. The second was that the bed was missing a certain fallen-now-human angel. Third, he was cold, because his human space heater of a... _boyfriend just seemed too juvenile for an eons old former celestial being_...partner was not currently wrapped around him octo-style as usual, not to mention his thick, goose down comforter was also gone.

 

The last of the three let him know more than anything that something was amiss this morning. Blanket theivery only occurred around the bunker when Cas was upset about one thing or another and hauled off his stolen bits of creature comfort to the den to do what Dean could only describe as _nesting_. Quite literally, Cas would be found cocooned in a perfectly round pile of blankets, pillows, towels, Dean's fluffy Men of Letters bathrobe, and whatever else the former angel found comforting that particular day.

 

Heaving a sigh he sat at the edge of his cold bed and scrubbed his hands over his face to wake himself up before pulling on a pair of worn sweats and zipping a hooded sweatshirt up over his bare chest. Padding out on cold floors to the kitchen, the acrid, stuck-in-the-back-of-your-throat smell of _burnt_ grew stronger the closer he got. Dean paused in the doorway, biting his lips and trying not to laugh out loud at the tableau spread across the usually pristine room.

 

Kitchen Disaster, indeed. He surveyed the damage while crossing to the coffee pot, because underneath the smell of burnt pancakes was the much more welcome smell of Cas' coffee. Cas had mastered that kitchen skill quickly. Others....well, it appeared cooking lessons were in order for his angel. Pouring himself a cup he stood, taking it all in. There in the trash can was a mountain of half-cooked, half-burnt pancakes and scattered over the counters were cartons of eggs and milk and bags of flour, most of which looked like they had exploded over the marble surface, as well as on the floor. Mixing bowls full of batter in various consistencies filled the sink and the large cast iron skillet was on the stove, still smoking under the remains of the saddest pancake known to man.

 

Shaking his head with a fond smirk, he drained his mug and set it down on what looked like the last clear counter space and went to hunt down a former angel.

 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 

He followed flour footprints and the faint sounds of sniffling to the den where Dean found the tell-tale mound of blankets on the floor behind the couch. The sniffling stopped suddenly and he assumed Cas had heard his footsteps over the floor. “Cas baby, you ok?” He crouched down to lift up the edge of the top blanket, _his_ comforter, to look underneath. The edge was snatched out of his hand and tucked back under the lump he thought was Cas. A muffled, miserable “Go away, Dean.” filtered up out of the nest. Dean tsked and pulled harder on the blanket, pulling it up to reveal Cas on his stomach, face buried into a couch cushion. One blue eye peeked out, narrowed at him as he climbed inside and snuggled up to Cas' side, pulling the blanket back over them both. He could barely see Cas through the dim light, but he could hear and he could feel, and that's really all you need.

 

He reached out and stroked a hand down Cas' tense back. “Wanna tell me what's wrong, angel?” Cas stiffened even more and mumbled into the cushion. “Sorry, didn't catch that.” He pushed firmly against Cas' shoulder, turning the stubborn man until he was on his side mirroring Dean. “I said I'm _not_   an angel, Dean. Not any longer. As an angel...I could have made pancakes with but a thought.” Dean sighed and pulled him in closer, rubbing soothing circles into a sharp hip. Cas sniffled again. “I wanted...I was trying to make you breakfast in bed, but...I failed. Horribly.” He could feel Cas' hands ball into fists and tried not to smile at the petulant pout that followed. “I have observed you making pancakes dozens of times, Dean. Why _I_ could not replicate your efforts and produce the same results, I am unable to understand.” The sniffling turned into soft sobs and Dean's chest felt tight with it. Wrapping his arms around gently shaking shoulders he tugged until Cas was tight against him, face rubbing over the fabric of his sweatshirt and fingers sliding under it to touch his skin. “Shh now. It's ok babe. I can teach you....if you want.” He felt Cas' nod and smiled.

 

Cas' hands started roaming along the planes of his back and Dean melted into the touch. Pulling back just slightly, he heard a whine of protest and chuckled. Ducking his head to press a kiss to soft lips he unzipped his sweatshirt and opened it, motioning Cas closer. He slid his own hands under Cas' shirt and tugged it off of his head before Cas cuddled in against him, sighing when their warm, bare chests pressed together. Dean zipped the sweatshirt behind Cas' back as his arms locked in the small of his back, stubbled cheek nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “Thank you, Dean. I feel so...useless all of the time. Trapped in this flesh like an awkward prisoner. How do humans function so _easily_?” The question was so forlorn that he couldn't help but chuckle. Rubbing his lips over Cas' mess of perma-bedhead he pondered. “Most of us get lots and lots of practice over the years. You've got some catching up to do.” Cas sighed and Dean kissed his way down to whisper in the former angel's ear. “But I'll be here, all along the way. Maybe we can get you a little apron.” He anticipated the indignant squawk and kissed Cas breathless instead.

 

They laid there wrapped in each other and Dean's sweatshirt, trading kisses and whispered words until the sound of Sam's giant footsteps broke into their quiet little bubble.

 

“Uhhh...guys? What blew up in the kitchen?”

 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 

A week later Dean was tucked into a corner of the Library reading when suddenly he had a lapful of beaming former angel. He looked up with an eyebrow cocked and grinned when he saw what Cas had in his hand.

 

On his turn to do an errand run he had stopped off at a used bookstore on a whim and found a battered old copy of The Joy of Cooking tucked onto a back shelf, and thought immediately of Cas. He'd smuggled the book into the bunker and hidden it among the mixing bowls, now stacked neatly in the cupboard, waiting until Cas found himself with an itch to cook again.

 

Cas held the book to his chest lovingly and leaned down to claim Dean's lips in a tender kiss, pulling back with a sigh and a playful smirk. “Thank you, Dean. So, what are you going to teach me to cook first?”

 

“How 'bout we start with pancakes? Have ourselves a little breakfast in bed.” He said, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

 

And the smile he got then was worth the 10 lbs of flour they went through that night until Cas mastered the art of the perfect pancake.

 

 


End file.
